Part 13

_2 Gent._ He is a man of a most curious valour, Wondrous precise, and punctual in that virtue.

_Duke._ But why to me so punctual? my last thought Was most intirely fixt on his advancement Why, I came now to put him in possession Of his fair fortunes: what a mis-conceiver 'tis! And from a Gentleman of our Chamber meerly, Made him Vice-Admiral: I was setled in't. I love him next to health: call him Gentlemen; Why would not you, or you, ha' taken as much, And never murmur'd? [_Exit 1 Gent._

_2 Gent._ Troth, I think we should, my Lord, And there's a fellow walks about the Court, Would take a hundred of 'em.

_Duke._ I hate you all for't, And rather praise his high pitch'd fortitude, Though in extreams for niceness: now I think on't, I would I had never done't--Now Sir, where is he?

_Enter 1 Gentleman._

_1 Gent._ His sute is only Sir, to be excus'd.

_Duke._ He shall not be excus'd, I love him dearlier: Say we intreat him; goe, he must not leave us [_Exit two Gentlemen._ So virtue bless me, I ne'er knew him paralell'd; Why, he's more precious to me now, than ever.

_Enter two Gentlemen, and_ Shamont.

_2 Gent._ With much fair language w'ave brought him.

_Duke._ Thanks----Where is he?

_2 Gent._ Yonder Sir.

_Duke._ Come forward man.

_Sham._ Pray pardon me, I'm asham'd to be seen Sir.

_Duke._ Was ever such a touchie man heard of? Prethee come nearer.

_Sham._ More into the light? Put not such cruelty into your requests my Lord, First to disgrace me publickly, and then draw me Into mens eye-sight, with the shame yet hot Upon my reputation.

_Duke._ What disgrace, Sir?

_Sham._ What? Such as there can be no forgiveness for, That I can find in honour.

_Duke._ That's most strange, Sir.

_Sham._ Yet I have search'd my bosom to find one, And wrestled with my inclination, But 'twill not be: would you had kill'd me Sir. With what an ease had I forgiven you then! But to endure a stroke from any hand Under a punishing Angel, which is justice, Honor disclaim that man, for my part chiefly: Had it been yet the malice of your sword, Though it had cleft me, 't had been noble to me; You should have found my thanks paid in a smile If I had fell unworded; but to shame me, With the correction that your horse should have, Were you ten thousand times my royal Lord, I cannot love you never, nor desire to serve you more. If your drum call me, I am vowed to valour, But peace shall never know me yours agen, Because I've lost mine own, I speak to dye Sir; Would you were gracious that way to take off shame, With the same swiftness as you pour it on: And since it is not in the power of Monarchs To make a Gentleman, which is a substance Only begot of merit, they should be careful Not to destroy the worth of one so rare, Which neither they can make; nor lost, repair. [_Exit._

_Duke._ Y'ave set a fair light Sir before my judgement, Which burns with wondrous clearness; I acknowledge it, And your worth with it: but then Sir, my love, My love--what gone agen?

_1 Gen._ And full of scorn, my Lord.

_Duke._ That language will undoe the man that keeps it. Who knows no diff'rence 'twixt contempt and manhood. Upon your love to goodness, Gentlemen, Let me not lose him long: how now?

_Enter a Huntsman._

_Hunts._ The game's at height my Lord.

_Duke._ Confound both thee and it: hence break it off; He hates me brings me news of any pleasure: I felt not such a conflict since I cou'd; Distinguish betwixt worthiness and bloud. [_Ex._

_Actus Tertius. Scæna Prima._

_Enter the two Brothers, 1 Gentleman, with those that_ _were the Masquers, and the_ Cupid.

_1 Gent._ I heartily commend your project, Gentlemen, 'Twas wise and virtuous.

_1 Bro._ 'Twas for the safety Of precious honour Sir, which near bloud binds us to: He promis'd the poor easie fool there, marriage, There was a good Maiden-head lost i'th' belief on't, Beshrew her hasty confidence.

_1 Gent._ Oh no more, Sir, You make her weep agen; alas poor _Cupid_: Shall she not shift her self?

_1 Bro._ Oh by no means Sir: We dare not have her seen yet, all the while She keeps this shape, 'tis but thought device, And she may follow him so without suspition, To see if she can draw all his wild passions, To one point only, and that's love, the main point: So far his Highness grants, and gave at first, Large approbation to the quick conceit, Which then was quick indeed.

_1 Gent._ You make her blush insooth.

_1 Bro._ I fear 'tis more the flag of shame, than grace Sir.

_1 Gent._ They both give but one kind of colour, Sir: If it be bashfulness in that kind taken, It is the same with grace; and there she weeps agen. In truth y'are too hard, much, much too bitter Sir, Unless you mean to have her weep her eyes out, To play a _Cupid_ truly.

_1 Bro._ Come ha' done then: We should all fear to sin first; for 'tis certain, When 'tis once lodg'd, though entertain'd in mirth, It must be wept out, if it e'er come forth.

_1 Gent._ Now 'tis so well, I'll leave you.

_1 Bro._ Faithfully welcome, Sir, Go _Cupid_ to your charge; he's your own now; If he want love, none will be blam'd but you.

_Cu._ The strangest marriage, and unfortunat'st Bride That ever humane memory contain'd; I cannot be my self for't. [_Exit._

_Enter the Clown._

_Clow._ Oh Gentlemen?

_1 Bro._ How now, Sir, what's the matter?

_Clo._ His melancholly passion is half spent already, Then comes his angry fit at the very tail on't, Then comes in my pain, gentlemen; h'as beat me e'en to a Cullis. I am nothing, right worshipful, but very pap, And jelly: I have no bones, my body's all one business, They talk of ribs and chines most freely abroad i'th' world, Why, I have no such thing; who ever lives to see me dead, Gentlemen, shall find me all mummie good to fill Gallipots, And long dildo glasses: I shall not have a bone to throw At a dog.

_Omnes._ Alas poor vassal; how he goes!

_Clo._ Oh Gentlemen, I am unjoynted, do but think o' that: My breast is beat into my maw, that what I eat, I am fain to take't in all at mouth with spoons; A lamentable hearing; and 'tis well known, my belly Is driven into my back. I earn'd four Crowns a month most dearly Gentlemen, And one he must have when the fit's upon him, The Privy-purse allows it, and 'tis thriftiness, He would break else s[o]me forty pounds in Casements, And in five hundred years undo the Kingdom: I have cast it up to a quarrel.

_1 Bro._ There's a fellow kickt about Court, I would He had his place, brother, but for one fit of his indignation.

_2 Bro._ And suddainly I have thought upon a means for't.

_1 Bro._ I prethee how?

_2 Bro._ 'Tis but preferring, Brother This stockfish to his service, with a Letter Of commendations, the same way he wishes it, And then you win his heart: for o' my knowledge He has laid wait this half year for a fellow That will be beaten, and with a safe conscience We may commend the carriage of this man in't; Now servants he has kept, lusty tall feeders, But they have beat him, and turn'd themselves away: Now one that would endure, is like to stay, And get good wages of him; and the service too Is ten times milder, Brother, I would not wish it else. I see the fellow has a sore crush'd body, And the more need he has to be kick'd at ease.

_Clow._ I sweet Gentlemen, a kick of ease, send me to such a Master.

_2 Bro._ No more I say, we have one for thee, a soft footed Master, One that wears wooll in's toes.

_Clow._ Oh Gentlemen, soft garments may you wear, Soft skins may you wed, But as plump as pillows, both for white and red. And now will I reveal a secret to you, Since you provide for my poor flesh so tenderly, Has hir'd meer rogues out of his chamber window, To beat the Soldier, Monsieur _Shamont_'s Brother:

_1 Bro._ That nothing concerns us, Sir.

_Clow._ For no cause, Gentlemen, Unless it be for wearing Shoulder-points, With longer taggs than his.

_2 Bro._ Is not that somewhat? Birlakin Sir, the difference of long taggs, Has cost many a man's life, and advanc'd other some, Come follow me.

_Clow._ See what a gull am I: Oh every man in his profession; I know a thump now as judiciously, As the proudest he that walks, I'll except none; Come to a tagg, how short I fall! I'm gone [_Exeunt._

_Enter_ Lapet.

_Lap._ I have been ruminating with my self, What honor a man loses by a kick: Why; what's a kick? the fury of a foot, Whose indignation commonly is stampt Upon the hinder quarter of a man: Which is a place very unfit for honor, The world will confess so much: Then what disgrace I pray, does th[a]t part surfer Where honor never comes, I'de fain know that? This being well forc'd, and urg'd, may have the power To move most Gallants to take kicks in time, And spurn out the duelloes out o' th' kingdom, For they that stand upon their honor most, When they conceive there is no honor lost, As by a Table that I have invented For that purpose alone, shall appear plainly, Which shews the vanity of all blows at large. And with what ease they may be took of all sides, Numbring but twice o'er the Letters patience From _C. P._ to _E._ I doubt not but in small time To see a dissolution of all bloud-shed, If the reform'd _Kick_ do but once get up: For what a lamentable folly 'tis, If we observe't, for every little justle, Which is but the ninth part of a sound thump, In our meek computation, we must fight forsooth, yes, If I kill, I'm hang'd; if I be kill'd my self, I dye for't also: is not this trim wisdom? Now for the _Con_, a ma[n] may be well beaten, Yet pass away his fourscore years smooth after: I had a Father did it, and to my power I will not be behind him.

_Enter_ Shamont.

_Sham._ Oh well met.

_Lap._ Now a fine _punch_ or two, I look for't duly.

_Sham._ I've been to seek you.

_Lap._ Let me know your Lodging, Sir, I'll come to you once a day, and use your pleasure, Sir.

_Sham._ I'm made the fittest man for thy society: I'll live and dye with thee, come shew me a chamber; There is no house but thine, but only thine, That's fit to cover me: I've took a blow, sirrah.

_Lap._ I would you had indeed: why, you may see, Sir; You'll all come to't in time, when my Book's out.

_Sham._ Since I did see thee last, I've took a blow.

_Lap._ Pha Sir, that's nothing: I ha' took forty since.

_Sham._ What? and I charg'd thee thou shouldst not?

_Lap._ I Sir, you might charge your pleasure. But they would give't me, whether I would or no.

_Sham._ Oh, I walk without my peace, I've no companion now; Prethee resolve me, for I cannot aske A man more beaten to experience, Than thou art in this kind, what manner of blow Is held the most disgraceful, or distasteful? For thou dost only censure 'em by the hurt, Not by the shame they do thee: yet having felt Abuses of all kinds, thou may'st deliver, Though't be by chance, the most injurious one.

_Lap._ You put me to't, Sir; but to tell you truth, They're all as one with me, little exception.

_Sham._ That little may do much, let's have it from you.

_Lap._ With all the speed I may, first then, and foremost, I hold so reverently of the _Bastinado_, Sir, That if it were the dearest friend i'th' world, I'de put it into his hand.

_Sham._ Go too, I'll pass that then.

_Lap._ Y'are the more happy, Sir, Would I were past it too: But being accustom'd to't. It is the better carried.

_Sham._ Will you forward?

_Lap._ Then there's your _souce_, your _wherit_ and your _dowst_, _Tugs_ on the hair, your _bob_ o'th' lips, a whelp on't, I ne'er could find much difference: Now your _thump_, A thing deriv'd first from your Hemp-beaters, Takes a mans wind away, most spitefully: There's nothing that destroys a Collick like it, For't leaves no wind i'th' body.

_Sham._ On Sir, on.

_Lap._ Pray give me leave, I'm out of breath with thinking on't.

_Sham._ This is far off yet.

_Lap._ For the _twinge_ by th' nose, 'Tis certainly unsightly, so my [Table] says, But helps against the head-ach, wond'rous strangely.

_Sham._ Is't possible?

_Lap._ Oh your _crush'd nostrils_ slakes your _opilation_, And makes your pent powers flush to wholsome sneezes.

_Sham._ I never thought there had been half that virtue In a wrung nose before.

_Lap._ Oh plenitude, Sir: Now come we lower to our _modern Kick_, Which has been mightily in use of late, Since our young men drank _Coltsfoot_: and I grant you, 'Tis a most scornful wrong, cause the foot plays it; But mark agen, how we that take't, requite it With the like scorn, for we receive it backward; And can there be a worse disgrace retorted?

_Sham._ And is this all?

_Lap._ All but a _Lug by th' ear_, Or such a trifle.

_Sham._ Happy sufferer, All this is nothing to the wrong I bear: I see the worst disgrace, thou never felt'st yet; It is so far from thee tho[u] canst not think on't; Nor dare I let thee know, it is so abject.

_Lap._ I would you would though, that I might prepare for't For I shall ha't at one time or another: If't be a _thwack_, I make account of that; There's no new fashion'd swap that e'er came up yet, But I've the first on 'em, I thank 'em for't.

_Enter the Lady and Servants._

_La._ Hast thou enquir'd?

_1 Serv._ But can hear nothing, Madam.

_Sham._ If there be but so much substance in thee To make a shelter for a man disgrac'd, Hide my departure from that glorious woman That comes with all perfection about her: So noble, that I dare not be seen of her, Since shame took hold of me: upon thy life No mention of me.

_Lap._ I'll cut out my tongue first, Before I'll loose my life, there's more belongs to't.

_Lad._ See there's a Gentleman, enquire of him.

_2 Ser._ For Monsieur _Shamont_, Madam?

_Lad._ For whom else, Sir?

_1 Serv._ Why, this fellow dares not see him.

_Lad._ How?

_1 Serv. Shamont_, Madam? His very name's worse than a Feaver to him, And when he cries, there's nothing stills him sooner; Madam, your Page of thirteen is too hard for him, 'Twas try'd i'th' wood-yard.

_Lad._ Alas poor grieved Merit! What is become of him? if he once fail, Virtue shall find small friendship: farewel then To Ladies worths, for any hope in men, He lov'd for goodness, not for Wealth, or Lust, After the world's foul dotage, he ne'er courted The body, but the beauty of the mind, A thing which common courtship never thinks on: All his affections were so sweet and fair, There is no hope for fame if he despair.

[_Exit Lady and Serv._

_Enter the Clown. He kicks_ Lapet.

_Lap._ Good morrow to you agen most heartily, Sir, Cry you mercy, I heard you not, I was somewhat busie.

_Clow._ He takes it as familiarly, as an Ave, Or precious salutation: I was sick till I had one, Because I am so us'd to't.

_Lap._ However you deserve, your friends and mine, here Give you large commendations i'this Letter, They say you will endure well.

_Clow._ I'de be loath To prove 'em liers: I've endur'd as much As mortal pen and ink can set me down for.

_Lap._ Say you me so?

_Clow._ I know and feel it so, Sir, I have it under Black and White already; I need no Pen to paint me out.

_Lap._ He fits me, And hits my wishes pat, pat: I was ne'er In possibility to be better mann'd, For he's half lam['d] already, I see't plain, But take no notice on't, for fear I make The rascal proud, and dear, to advance his wages; First, let me grow into particulars with you; What have you endured of worth? let me hear.

_Clow._ Marry Sir, I'm almost beaten blind.

_Lap._ That's pretty well for a beginning, But many a Mill-horse has endur'd as much.

_Clow._ Shame o'th' Millers heart for his unkindness then.

_Lap._ Well Sir, what then?

_Clow._ I've been twice thrown down stairs, just before supper.

_Lap._ Puh, so have I, that's nothing.

_Clow._ I but Sir, Was yours pray before supper?

_Lap._ There thou posest me.

_Clow._ I marry, that's it, 't had been less grief to me, Had I but fill'd my belly, and then tumbled, But to be flung down fasting, there's the dolour.

_Lap._ It would have griev'd me, that indeed: proceed Sir.

_Clo._ I have been pluck'd and tugg'd by th' hair o'th' head About a Gallery, half an Acre long.

_Lap._ Yes, that's a good one, I must needs confess, A principal good one that, an absolute good one, I have been trode upon, and spurn'd about, But never tugg'd by th' hair, I thank my fates.

_Clow._ Oh 'tis a spiteful pain.

_Lap._ Peace, never speak on't, For putting men in mind on't.

_Clow._ To conclude, I'm bursten Sir: my belly will hold no meat.

_Lap._ No? that makes amends for all.

_Clow._ Unless 't be puddings, Or such fast food, any loose thing beguiles me, I'm ne'er the better for't.

_Lap._ Sheeps-heads will stay with thee?

_Clo._ Yes Sir, or Chaldrons.

_Lap._ Very well sir: Your bursten fellows must take heed of surfets: Strange things it seems, you have endur'd;

_Clo._ Too true Sir.

_Lap._ But now the question is, what you will endure Hereafter in my service?

_Clo._ Anything That shall be reason Sir, for I'm but froth; Much like a thing new calv'd, or come more nearer Sir, Y'ave seen a cluster of Frog-spawns in _April_, E'en such a starch am I, as weak and tender As a green woman yet.

_Lap._ Now I know this, I will be very gently angry with thee, And kick thee carefully.

_Clow._ Oh I, sweet Sir.

_Lap._ Peace, when thou art offer'd well, lest I begin now. Your friends and mine have writ here for your truth, They'll pass their words themselves, and I must meet 'em.

_Clow._ Then have you all: [_Exit._ As for my honesty, there is no fear of that, For I have ne'er a whole bone about me. [_Exit._

_Musick. Enter the passionate Cosin, rudely, and carelesly apparrell'd,_ _unbrac'd, and untruss'd. The_ Cupid _following_.

_Cup._ Think upon love, which makes all creatures handsome, Seemly for eye-sight; goe not so diffusedly, There are great Ladies purpose Sir to visit you.

_Pas._ Grand plagues, shut in my casements, that the breaths Of their Coach-mares reek not into my nostrils; Those beasts are but a kind of bawdy fore-runners.

_Cup._ It is not well with you, When you speak ill of fair Ladies.

_Pas._ Fair mischiefs, give me a nest of Owls and take 'em; Happy is he, say I, whose window opens To a brown Bakers chimney, he shall be sure there To hear the Bird sometimes after twilight: What a fine thing 'tis methinks to have our garments Sit loose upon us thus, thus carelesly, It is more manly, and more mortifying; For we're so much the readier for our shrouds: For how ridiculous wer't, to have death come, And take a fellow, pinn'd up like a Mistriss! About his neck a Ruff, like a pinch'd Lanthorn, Which School-boys make in winter; and his doublet So close and pent, as if he fear'd one prison Would not be strong enough, to keep his soul in; But's Tailor makes another: And trust me; (for I know't when I lov'd _Cupid_,) He does endure much pain, for the poor praise Of a neat sitting suit.

_Cup._ One may be handsome, Sir, And yet not pain'd, nor proud.

_Pas._ There you lie _Cupid_, As bad as _Mercury_: there is no handsomness, But has a wash of Pride and Luxury, And you go there too _Cupid._ Away dissembler, Thou tak'st the deeds part, which befools us all; Thy Arrow heads shoot out sinners: hence away, And after thee I'll send a powerful charm, Shall banish thee for ever.

_Cup._ Never, never, I am too sure thine own. [_Exit._

Pas. Sings.

_Hence all you vain Delights,_ _As short as are the nights,_ _Wherein you spend your folly,_ _There's nought in this life sweet,_ _If man were wise to see't_, _But only melancholly,_ _Oh sweetest melancholly._ _Welcome folded Arms, and fixed Eyes,_ _A sigh that piercing mortifies,_ _A look that's fastened to the ground,_ _A tongue chain'd up without a sound._

_Fountain heads, and pathless Groves,_ _Places which pale passion loves:_ _Moon-light walks, when all the Fowls_ _Are warmly hous'd, save Bats and Owls;_ _A mid-night Bell, a parting groan,_ _These are the sounds we feed upon;_ _Then stretch our bones in a still gloomy valley,_ _Nothing's so dainty sweet, as lovely melancholly._ [_Exit._

_Enter at another door_ Lapet, _the_ Cupid_'s Brothers_ _watching his coming_.

_1 Bro._ So, so, the Woodcock's ginn'd; Keep this door fast brother.

_2 Bro._ I'll warrant this.

_1 Bro._ I'll goe incense him instantly; I know the way to't.

_2 Bro._ Will't not be too soon think you, And make two fits break into one?

_1 Bro._ Pah, no, no; the tail of his melancholy Is always the head of his anger, and follows as close, As the Report follows the powder.

_Lap._ This is the appointed place, and the hour struck, If I can get security for's truth, I'll never mind his honesty, poor worm, I durst lay him by my wife, which is a benefit Which many Masters ha' not: I shall ha' no Maid Now got with child, but what I get my self, And that's no small felicity: in most places Th'are got by th' Men, and put upon the Masters, Nor shall I be resisted when I strike, For he can hardly stand; these are great blessings.

_Pas._ I want my food, deliver me a Varlet. [_Within._

_Lap._ How now, from whence comes that?

_Pas._ I am allow'd a carkass to insult on; Where's the villain?

_Lap._ He means not me I hope.

_Pas._ My maintenance rascals; my bulk, my exhibition.

_[L]ap._ Bless us all, What names are these? Would I were gone agen.

_The passionate man enters in fury with a Truncheon._

He Sings.

_A curse upon thee for a slave,_ _Art thou here, and heardst me rave?_ _Fly not sparkles from mine eye,_ _To shew my indignation nigh?_ _Am I not all foam, and fire,_ _With voice as hoarse as a Town-crier?_ _How my back opes and shuts together,_ _With fury, as old mens with weather!_ _Could'st thou not hear my teeth gnash hither?_

_Lap._ No truly, Sir, I thought 't had been a Squirrel, Shaving a Hazel-nut.

_Pas._ Death, Hell, Fiends, and darkness. I will thrash thy maungy carkass.

_Lap._ Oh sweet Sir.

_Pas._ There cannot be too many tortures, Spent upon those louzie Quarters.

_Lap._ Hold, oh. [_Falls down for dead._

_Pas._ Thy bones shall rue, thy bones shall rue.

Sings again.